The laydown had been a pain but he had managed to get a lot of work done. Section 43, which dealt with A and Double A Category prisoners, stated that they could be moved for twenty-eight days at the discretion of the prison governor to a stipulated prison of their choice. Hence the laydown. They were taken away and put in solitary, generally in Wandsworth, which satisfied the governors that they could never plan an escape. The reasoning behind this was that they could be taken at any time of the day or night, with no advance warning. Section 43 was brought in ostensibly for terrorists, but any Maximum Security prisoner was liable to the rule.

His laydowns were a joy to Lewis; he had already bought himself enough staff in the prison service to assure himself an easy stay. His radio was left with him, as were his writing materials and his books. His food was decent and he drank tea and whisky by the gallon. It was the mark of his situation, his reputation, and his considerable bank balance, that he was allowed to live in relative ease.

Having taken to reading in his first year of prison, he was now a knowledgeable man who saw his lack of education as the reason behind his criminal career. Now he craved knowledge as a thirsty man craves water, and used it to further his own ends. It had never occurred to him that with an education he could have been a legitimate businessman; he saw his lack of education as the reason to work doubly hard to be a success in his illegal businesses. Such was the temperament and mentality of Donald Lewis.

‘Here’s your breakfast, Mr Lewis.’ The younger man placed a plate of bacon, eggs, tomatoes and mushrooms on the table.

Lewis smiled up at him and without a word picked up his knife and fork and tucked in.

The other man stood watching until he had started eating then, sighing with relief, left the cell and made his way back to his own breakfast. It was always a toss up whether Lewis would eat the breakfast or decorate the cell walls with it. Walking into the small kitchen, the cook cursed loudly; his sausage was gone as was his bacon.

‘Thieving bastards!’

He smiled briefly as he heard laughter coming from the other cells. He inspected the rest of his food before beginning to eat. They were capable of anything in here in the name of a joke, from spitting on the food to putting LSD in your baked beans. He was just nervous at having Lewis back from his laydown. Everything was topsy-turvy this morning.

Lewis was mopping up the egg yolk with a slice of bread when he turned to see his minder, Harry Clarkson, standing in the doorway.

‘I’ve brought Brunos, Mr Lewis. Shall I tell him to wait out here?’